


Tempered Steel

by Laiquendi



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: # adoration #battle wounds #weapons, Battle, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Swords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:27:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25755865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laiquendi/pseuds/Laiquendi
Summary: Joe fondly remembers the first time he laid eyes on the love of his life as he watches the man workout with his long-sword.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 16
Kudos: 178





	1. The Beginning

**Chapter One: The Beginning**

Joe, Nicky and Booker arrived at the old abandoned church in Goussainville shortly before dusk. A quick stealthy reconnaissance revealed that all was well and everything had been left alone. They quickly fell into a well practiced routine, gear was sorted and stowed by Booker, weapons cleaned and checked by Nicky and then basic needs were seen too by Joe.

Some simple provisions were always stowed away in the tiny makeshift larder, things that would keep, nothing fancy, just enough to fill bellies until fresh supplies could be organised in the morning. As Joe scanned the shelves he glanced over the usual stack of M.R.E's and his eyes settled on the bag of dried macaroni pasta. A quick flick through the sauces and he pulled out two sachets of cheese sauce, he also found a jar of ready made white sauce, he knew it would probably be tasteless glup but beggars can't be choosers. He'd enough to whip up a basic Mac and Cheese, hardly Michelin Star cuisine but it would take the edge of their hunger and he set to work getting everything ready.

By the time he was done and had plated up, Booker had finished sorting and replenishing their packs and was resting in one of the leather arm chairs. He'd also lit the fire to take some of the chill out of the air. The old stone building had been vacant for a few months and badly needed airing out and warming up. Joe nodded at Booker and handed him one of the plates of food balancing on his open palms. The Frenchman reached up for his plate, careful not to knock the fork teetering on the edge and placed it on his lap.

“Merci mon ami,” he spoke softly.

“Je vous en prie,” Joe replied as he reached into the single pocket at the front of his slightly worn apron and pulled out a small matching set of salt and pepper shakers and offered them to his friend.

“Trust me, you'll need these,” he laughed.

Booker smiled and sprinkled an ample amount of seasoning over the pasta before dropping the two glass shakers back into Joe's apron and proceeded to shovel a heap of hot macaroni into his mouth.

“Nicky?” he inquired after his partner.

Booker looked to the right and had to point with his fork as his mouth was still full of pasta.

Joe nodded in thanks and headed towards one of the large rooms that made up the living quarters attached to the church.Upon entering he was met by a large old oak table, it's well worn and marred surface was covered in an array of firearms, many of which had been used on their recent failed mission to South Sudan. All were laid out neatly, categorised, cleaned and oiled where necessary, Nicky was always meticulous.

The smell of gun oil was still strong in the air and a large pile of dirty 4x2 sections of rifle cleaning cloth lay at then end of the table alongside a discarded olive green t-shirt. In a section on its own, lying on a piece of old upholstery fabric lay his scimitar. His precious backsword had been lovingly cared for. All traces of blood had been removed from it's curved blade. No swordsman worth his salt would leave blood on a blade for an extended time if it could be avoided, the blood would actually corrode the steel. He had wiped as much blood from it as he could after the ambush but it needed a thorough clean.

A rhythmic sound from the far corner of the room suddenly grabbed his attention, looking up from the table and it's contents, he spotted his Nicky. The man's back was facing him, lean muscles moved and stretched over bones as he repeatedly worked a whetstone along the length of his long sword's edges, occasionally he would pause and sprinkle a tiny amount of water over the blade, not strictly necessary but the small amount of lubrication helps the cutting action and rinses away the swarf. The view was mesmorising, Joe carefully placed the plate of pasta on the table and continued to watch the beautiful man work. After a certain amount of even strokes, Nicky raised his sword in his outstretched arm and whilst tilting his wrist he painstakingly scrutinised the newly sharpened edges. He made the action look effortless but Joe knew better. The sword's hilt was long, designed to be held in a two-handed grip, those fourty plus inches of steel weighed close to two kilos. But the man handled it with elegance and grace. His long sinewy arms belied the immense strength hidden within. The man was a work of art.

Joe would never forget the first time he came face to face with his now soul mate. Those memories and feelings were still raw and vibrant, as if they were but newly formed and not something that had been a treasured part of him for nearly a millenia. The circumstances that forced them together were long and convoluted and spread over several years, brought about by the decisions and actions of high ranking men on both opposing sides.

In 1095 when Byzantine Emperor Alexios I Komnenos first appealed to the Christian Church for help against the Muslim hoards threatening his domain, Pope Urban II proclaimed the First Crusades in response and thus began a series or religious wars in the Eastern regions of the Mediterranean. The People's Crusade led by French Priest, Peter The Hermit, consisted of thousands of poor Christians, most of whom were slaughtered by the Seljuk Turks at the Battle of Civetot in 1096. This outcome set in motion the Prince's Crusade and it was at this stage that his beloved became involved as the lower classes were accompanied by those of higher nobility. Nicolo di Genova left his cherished home in Genoa and embarked on the long arduous journey to Constantinople along with almost one hundred thousand other souls.

Atrocities were committed and an untold amount of blood was shed by all involved but amongst the loss of countless lives, Yusuf had found the love of his life.

He too was a warrior born of nobility and with his father Ibrahim's blessing, he answered the call of Govenor Iftikhar ad-Duada to protect Jerusalem from the invading infidels. He left the Maghreb region with many fellow Berbers and travelled east along the coast of North Africa and became part of the Fatimid Caliphate in Egypt. Arabs, Bedouins and Berbers soon all travelling together until they eventually arrived at the sacred city. But the Crusaders were more successful this time, well armed and schooled in tactics, they marched through the land and despite a lack of food and water, they captured Nicea and later on Antioch. By June 1099 they had reached the walls of Jerusalem and the city was under seige. July 15th an attack was launched at both ends of the city wall until finally the inner rampart of the northern wall was captured.

It was from the collapsing parts of that very wall that Yusuf leapt from, brandishing his trusty scimitar, screaming like a man possessed whilst he charged the Knights scattered below. He had believed then that death would most likely befall him before the night was over but he was not afraid, if Allah deemed it so, then he welcomed it so long as he could bathe his blade in the blood of his enemies before his time came.

Some of the Sudanese archers positioned high above him were still managing to release volleys of arrows on the approaching hostile force. Many aimed their weapons at a well armed mounted cavalcade of charging Knights, their long spears easily penetrated the armour of his fellow warriors.

After another lethal barrage of arrows, many of the steads fell causing their riders to tumble to the ground. His Nicolo was one such rider. He had lost his helmet and spear in the resulting fall and immediately drew his long sword from its scabbard.

Amidst the smoke and flames, the shouts and cries, they locked eyes and back then Nicolo's blue grey eyes shone with anger, hatred and contempt, surely a mirror to his own.

He had witnessed the fall, he knew his opponent had to be in some degree of pain and weary from countless skirmishes, many of which were carried out on an empty stomach due to a shortage in food supplies and regular fasting. But none of this showed on his adversaries face, nor was there any trace of fear...a worthy foe, he would make sure to personally send this proud warrior to meet his God tonight.

The resulting fight was vicious, both men shared equal battle prowess, Nicolo's lean frame belied his strength and he reined powerful blows upon his enemy, wielding his lethal long sword with skill and dexterity but Yusuf was faster, his shorter scimitar was more manoeuverable. As the duel raged on and steel clashed against steel, several minor hits were scored by both men, but it was Yusuf that swung the initial mortal blow.

A well timed slice to a briefly exposed gut had Nicolo falling to his knees. His pale surcoat was rapidly stained with red as his shaking left hand tried in vain to hold pressure against the wound. As his life force continued to seep from his body, he slumped backwards onto his calves and a stifled groan escaped his lips. Yusuf had looked on with glee, another enemy vanquished but as much as he hated this unwashed barbarian, he respected a fellow warrior, the man had put up a good fight and he would not see him needlessly suffer, he had earned a quick death. He closed the gap between them in order to conduct a deathly blow...that had been a grievous mistake.

His opponent, still gripping the handle of his long sword in his right hand, thrust up with all his remaining strength and pierced him through the chest. The Knight was rewarded for his desparate efforts as he witnessed the Muslim's dark brown eyes widen in suprise and then clench in pain. Yusuf had been deceived, the fallen noble was not as weak as he had let on, he remained there motionless, impaled on steel as the seconds stretched on for an eternity, once again eyes staring at his rival. A brief flash of satisfaction graced the Christian's features as he ruthlessly wrenched the lenght of steel from his chest, the plug now released, a torrent of blood flowed from the wound and Yusuf knew he was not long for this world. All strength and vigor fled him and he collapsed in a graceless heap on the ground beside his executioner. The Knight however quickly followed suit, bloodloss finally taking it's toll. They lay there side by side on the chaotic battlefield, matching piercing gazes promising retribution in the afterlife as they were finally overcome by the darkness.

Resurrection had been a jarring, confusing and painful experience for both of them. Surely a miracle was the only rational explaination, each one believing they had been brought back by God to do his work and fight in his name. As soon as they managed to find their feet and their weapons, they resumed their single combat, all else was inconsequential, they focused on each other and abandoned all others. The result was bloody and brutal, they fought again and again, stabbing, gutting, impaling, they drowned each other, heads were smashed in with rocks but every time they both managed to inflict a fatal blow on each other and they died together side by side.

It's fair to say they lost count of the number of times they killed each other. And neither one can quite recall which fight to the death had been their last, but at some stage in the proceedings something had changed and the desire to seek vengeance and commit murder had waned. Their differences grew fewer and fewer and they discovered that they had actually more in common than not. Still it wasn't easy at first, beliefs and ideals don't just change or disappear over night, but their new found immortality connected them on a level neither man had ever experienced before with another living soul. They begrudgingly stayed together out of necessity and perhaps due to a little fear of the unknown, though neither man would ever admit such. Gradually over time they became comrades, then close friends and somewhere along the way that friendship deepened into something much, much more.

Joe still prays and thanks God for the strange set of circumstances that led him to Nicky. Maybe God had nothing to do with it, maybe they were just destined to meet and be together, either way, he will be eternally grateful for being allowed to have this amazing man in his life.


	2. Never Ending

**Chapter Two: Never Ending**

Joe is reluctant to disturb his lover from his sacred ritual. He has witnessed Nicky tending to their ancient weapons countless times before and each time he performs his duty with thoroughness, precision and tenderness. Each stroke of the whetstone like a lover's caress, each swipe of the leather chamois paying reverence to something that helped stave off many an unwelcomed death both before and after he was gifted with immortality.

Nicky's skill with modern firearms is unquestionable, as adept with close quarter handguns as he is with long-range sniper rifles but the sword will always be his preferred weapon and even though it may not always be practical in some situations, he never goes on missions without it.

Joe does not begrudge the man this partnership, how could he? He understands it perfectly, besides each other, their swords are their only remaining connection to the past and the lives they once led. Family, friends, homes all long gone, turned to rubble and dust. Even the very land itself has changed, virtually unrecognisable in this modern age. But the length of sharpened steel he now holds remains a constant in his life, strong and unwavering like their love.

When the Italian is finally done he lays the weapon across his thighs and hangs his head as if in prayer, after a moment of silence a hand reaches up behind his neck and begins to work the tense muscles beneath the olive skin. He inhales and releases a deep calming breath and then sniffs the air, turning suddenly to glance over his right shoulder, locking eyes with person he cherishes most in this world, he smiles softly.

Joe is treated to a glorious view of a profile he has admired for centuries, that proud nose, the envy of any Roman Emperor. He could easily see a marble bust of this incredible being gracing the halls of the Vatican Museum, those large almond eyes and inviting cupid's bow, what artist wouldn't want to capture beauty such as this for prosperity? He had certainly captured his lover's image in many mediums over the years, sometimes just a rough sketch of an elegant hand on the back of a diner menu, a pair of soulful eyes scribbled on the side of a newspaper. But his Nicolo deserved so much better, he should have been sculpted by Bernini or painted by Caravaggio. His mind began to wander as he visualised him modeling as Saint Sebastian, what a sublime piece of art that would have been.

He's roused from his musings by the scraping of wood against stone as Nicky turns the old stool he's sitting on to get a better look at him. He sniffs the air again with slight distain this time as he glances in the direction of the almost forgotten plate of mac and cheese.

“That,” he indicated with his chamois still dangling from his hand, “is an affront to pasta!”

Joe knew of course his partner was just teasing and replied, “You're such a food snob Nicolo! May I remind you of the time we were forced to eat _rat_ on that voyage to the West Indies.”

“At least the rat was fresh!” he countered jokingly.

Joe could only agree and joined the laughing Italian in the moment of levity.

“Do you want to eat now or...?” he asked tentatively, knowing that Nicky hadn't fully completed his usual routine.

“Maybe after, do you mind?” he asked equally cautious, not wanting to add further insult to Joe's efforts at providing sustenance.

Joe stepped in front of his beloved, careful to avoid the blade and locked the seated man's knees between his own. He tenderly cupped his inamorato's face in both hands, brushing each thumb along chiseled cheekbones, secretly wishing he could magically smooth away the tiredness and sadness he saw reflected in those sea grey eyes. As compensation for his inability to grant his Nicolo this whim, he bent over and placed a chaste kiss at the end of the man's nose.

“Cosa mai desideri amore mio,” he answered.

He was rewarded with a faint smile and an even fainter blush of heat along those magnificent cheekbones.

Nicky leaned forward into Joe, resting his forehead on his abdomen, then wrapped his two arms around his former foe's waist, pulling him in and gripping tightly as if his very life depended on it. Joe in return gently ran his fingers over the bowed head, down the vulnerable neck and rested them a moment on the broad shoulders before he began to work on some of the hard knots of muscle.

He's not exactly sure how long they remained locked together, time spent in his lover's embrace always seemed to pass differently, minutes stretching to eternity but he would stay here like this in silence, for as long as Nicolo needed him to.

Quietness was the man's default setting, certainly not the typical stereotype loud, gesturing Italian one would expect. He was passionate about food, without question and he loved deeply and would defend his adopted family with strength and vehemence. He had witnessed things get a little ' _sanguinoso_ ' over the years when someone had hurt one of their little clan but even then threats were uttered softly and justice doled out in silence. Joe had put it down to the many years Nicolo had spent in the priesthood prior to leaving for the Crusades. The countless hours spent in tranquil prayer and meditation had left a lasting impression. He was still a man of few words, but also their collective voice of reason so when he did speak, it was wise to listen to what he had to say.

But together they had their own shorthand, a silent understanding learned from spending hundreds of years together where feelings, thoughts, needs and wants were often expressed by a simple look or the barest of gestures. So when Nicolo finally raised his head and looked intensely into Joe's own dark eyes, no words needed to be said. He simply planted another tender kiss on the man's nose and stepped out of his way, allowing him to get up.

Nicolo gripped his longsword tightly and moved to a cleared space in the room and began swinging the bladefrom side to side, rolling his neck and shoulders, twisting his waist and hips, bending his knees. When he had loosened up as much as he could he started.

Joe happily planted himself on the now vacant stool and watched with untold admiration as his beloved barbarian began his deadly dance.

**~ooOoo~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all,  
> So Thanks very much to everyone that has taken the time to read my fic or has given kudos too, it's very much appreciated :)  
> This was to be just two chapters but it looks like it's going to stretch to three now.  
> Anyway, hope you've enjoyed it & as always , love to know what you think.  
> Take care.
> 
> Italian:  
> "Lover's"  
> "What ever you wish my love."  
> "Bloody." ~ Google translate.


	3. Resilience

Chapter Three: Resilience

The movements were quite formal to begin with. Joe could easily make out the repeated patterns of lunges with practiced cuts, slices and thrusts, followed by various examples of parry and riposte against his invisible opponent. He recognised fencing moves best used with a foil or rapier, some more suited to a sabre or scimitar, even some created for a katana, each move now executed with ease with his more cumbersome longsword. Over their many hundred years spent together, his Nicolo had always remained a student of the sword, learning from whomever, where ever and whenever he possibly could.

They had travelled the World together, visiting some places by choice, others because they felt compelled to do so, to help where they could, some they were simply contracted to go to on a mission.

In some countries they were lucky enough to get to stay for a few years and make a home of sorts. Mixing with the locals, dining on native cuisine, maybe even learning the language...or at least picking up enough words to get by. They could never fully put down roots, always moving on well before someone could get suspicious of their lack of aging and there were only a few special places that they'd return to a generation or two later. But regardless of where they were living, be it a city, town or remote village, Joe would always make a point of immersing himself in the culture and would insist on them visiting as many museums, galleries and libraries as they could.

He's well aware of the fact that Nicolo didn't appreciate _every_ stage performance he was brought to and to be fair there'd been a few turnips over the years, 'Shakespeare on Stilts' springs to mind but as he usually reminded him 'in order to appreciate the good, you must also experience the bad'. And his Nicolo was more than willing to put up with the bad and the art that he didn't quite 'get' because he knew it was important to _him._ The Italian loved him more than enough and understood him completely to be there with him, for Joe and Joe loved him even more for that selfless act.

Yusuf was born an artist and a poet at heart, they would always be traits at the very core of his being. But circumstances at the time of his early mortal days didn't have much need for his artistry. His poems and sketches would not put food in hungry bellies and his father insisted that he learned other skills, which of course he did. He eventually became a skilled warrior and was prepared to use those skills against the infidels invading the Holy Land but Nicolo...he was born for the blade.

One could easily be forgiven for assuming erroneously that Joe was the more dangerous of the two, especially by those that didn't truly know them. Outwardly it would seem so, Joe was demonstrably passionate, reactive and animated. He could argue loudly and forcibly about something but his temper was as quick to dissipate as it was to appear, like a blindingly bright firework, short lived but impressive.

Nicky appeared to be the more reasonable partner, those dulcet tones acting as the voice of calm and reason, the negotiator, the pacifier, never one to overreact, all cool and collected.

But his family knew the truth. Beneath that tranquil personna a beast lay hidden.

Andy had once quite accurately compared him to Vesuvio, an active volcano that spends most of its time in a dormant phase. Dormant but not extinct, buried beneath the surface a chamber of magma, molten rock lying in wait until the pressure becomes too much and then all hell brakes lose. Threatening or hurting anyone of their close knit group is one of his pressure points. When that threat is directed at Joe, all they can really do is sit back and watch Mr. Serenity erupt.

They've seen him on the battlefield, a destructive force of nature laying waste to their enemies, carving a path though limbs with brutal efficient force, a bloody and barbaric sight. They had all lived through more savage times, when the way of the sword or axe was common place, they had all received and inflicted grievous wounds over the centuries and were no stranger to this level of violence but Nicky made it look like an art form. And it was this very art form that Joe now observed . And it was art, different yes to his own preferences of paintings, sculptures and poetry but art nonetheless. It could be dangerous and destructive but it was also skillful, beautiful and imaginative.

As they traveled the continents, they also saw the inside of many a Salle d'Armes and dōjō, sometimes Nicky would befriend a skilled swordsman and receive instruction in a barn or field. He was always willing to learn regardless of the teachers social status or the location. He studied Kendo and Kenjutsu in Japan, La Verdadera Destreza in Spain, Scots fencing in Edinburgh, the Kunst des Fechtens in Frankfurt. He's trained with the espanda, silat, khopesh, rapier, dao, kopis, shasqua, claymore the list goes on. Joe himself had even given his lover some lessons on how best to handle the Turkish scimitar. Nicky's own fighting style was now a wonderful blend of all those fighting traditions studied over the last millennia.

So when the set movements of the patterns and kata Joe was studying so intently suddenly became less formal, he knew the Italian was now simply being himself. His precious longsword becoming an extention of his own body, wielded with ease and a fluidity that Joe often coveted.

His footwork the envy of Fred Astaire, his grace and strength worthy of Baryshnikov, ok so maybe he was waxing a bit lyrical, but a man is entitled to be effusive about the love of his life, besides he looked so damn sexy with all that sweat glistening off his body.

His mind began to wander and think of other more pleasant situations where his Nicolo was equally as sweaty but he was rudely pulled from his musings when those forthy inches of sharpened steel whizzed past his face. He looked up to see then tail end of a pirouette of sorts and the barbarian was actually smiling at him.

“Keep it clean,” he warned, then winked and continued without missing a beat.

'Busted', Joe thought, Nicky always knew when his mind was in the proverbial gutter, but it couldn't be helped, the man could corrupt a Saint. Still he could continue to watch and behave himself...sort of.

Nicky was dropping a shoulder and feinting a downward blow only to whip his blade up and attack his 'opponents' head, he was pretty sure the move would have resulted in a decapitation. There was little room for etiquette in real life situations and Nicky could play dirty with the best of them and just because he was brandishing a sword in a fight didn't mean he wasn't above shooting an enemy in the head with a Glock 17 or smashing a face in with the pommel. Next he used a Musashi tactic, which ended with his invisible foe being impaled. Finally he ended his exercise session with a series of lightning strikes, designed to inflict maximum damage before an adversary even knew what hit them. They would bleed out in seconds.

During his many years spent in northern Africa he had seen the damage and death inflicted by many venomous snakes, the Egyptian Cobra, the Puff Adder and the Black Mamba to name but a few, some aggressive, some only when threatened, all potentially deadly, all striking with lethal precision a little bit like his Nicolo.

As he finished, he performed a few more stretches and took a few deep breaths to centre himself not that he was out of breath, he generally used techniques similar to combat tactical breathing when sparring, probably just as well. The sight of the man all sweaty and breathless and Joe might not be responsible for his actions.

Nicky returned to the stool Joe was sitting on and carefully reached over his lovers head to place his longsword down on the piece of tapestry beside his partner's scimitar. They would collect their swords as well as some fire arms later before they retired for the night. Booker would be taking first watch anyway.

“How do you feel habibi?” he asked softly, looking up into the man's eyes.

“Better,” Nicky replied with a soft smile, succinct as always.

Joe knew he was being honest, some of the storm had left his beautiful orbs. There was tiredness still but he seemed less troubled and Joe found his own peace in that truth.

Nicky cast his gaze to the forgotten plate of pasta and made a grimace. The thoughts of eating cold mac and cheese was considerably less appealing than eating it hot. Joe followed his lover's sightline and had a pretty good idea what was going through the man's mind.

“Go shower and I'll reheat it for you...can't be any worse...I think...maybe,” he joked.

Nicky leaned over and cupped his beloved's face in his large hands and kissed him. It was sweet and tender and Joe lamented it's loss when Nicky eventually pulled away.

“Mi vizi amore mio,” Nicky purred, then rubbed his fingers through Joe's ample curls, before leaving to go wash up.

Joe sighed at the sight of his lover leaving the room, one day he'll stop acting like a randy teenager but today is not that day. He reached across the table and lifted up the cold congealed plate of pasta and made a little grimace of his own. As he stood up his gaze fell upon their two swords lying side by side, oddly reminiscent of their own sleeping arrangements. He smiled at them fondly. Both blades having withstood the test of time, their layers and layers of folded tempered steel making them strong and resilient, not unlike their owners.

'Hmmm,' he thought to himself as he made his way to the kitchen, 'could be a good poem in there somewhere...now what rhymes with resilient?'

**~ooOoo~**

Well that's it folks! I really hoped you enjoyed this little fic, first time in this fandom but I hope to make a return, the characters are just to good to leave be :) Very grateful for the kudos and comments, please let me know what you think of it. I have no idea if Shakespeare has ever been performed on stilts, it's just a weird notion that popped into my head!

Mi vizi amore mio ~ You spoil me, my love (google translate)

La Verdadera Destreza - Spanish tradition of fencing ~ the true skill/art  
Kunst de Fechtens - German school of fencing ~ art of fencing

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all !  
> So first foray into this particular Fandom. Honestly I knew nothing about it until I saw the recent film...wow ! I haven't seen/read any comic element so humble apologies to any aspects that I may have fudged up.  
> I'm no historian but I've researched certain elements as best I can, again apologies for any inaccuracies, no offence is intended. Some aspects were unavoidable, in the lore apparently Yusuf guts Nicolo, but apparently Crusaders at this time would have worn a mail hauberk and a gambeson, both highly effective against any stabbing or slashing motions from an enemies blade, but we just have to ignore that little fact for the moment.  
> Obviously these characters are not my own, I'm merely borrowing them for my own perverse pleasure. Angst is usually my jam so not sure how this is going to play, regardless I hope you enjoy it & I'd love to know what you think. Thanks :)


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